Once Too Many
by taskforce
Summary: It has been said that strife will bring out the best and worst of humanity. Here, on the world of Mercatum Hortu, this will ring true as the Imperial Guard struggles to cleanse an Ork invasion. Here, warriors will feel the exultation of victory and bitter tang of defeat. For this battle will remind them that war is mingled sorrow and glory, and they will fight to whatever end.


_It's hard to remember now, but Mercatum Hortu was in flames in 935.M41. Orks had overrun the western continent of the planet four years previously, and the war was still going their way. An unexpected intrusion of various Chaos cults across the eastern continents had only increased the pressure on the beleaguered Planetary Defense Forces. In the eyes of many of the citizenry, the war against both the invaders and the heretics was rapidly becoming unwinnable/ Landing Day changed all that._

_Landing Day: 6.121.935.M41. It changed everything. The heavens were torn apart in brilliant colors as an Imperial battle fleet emerged from the Warp, carrying enough Imperial Guard troops to turn the tide of the conflict. Under the command of Lord General Damon, over twenty regiments of His Divine Majesty's soldiers descended by shuttle and dropship, dispersing across the two Eastern landmasses to root out the heretics. Within three local months, the loyalist forces had regained control of the tactical situation. The Thirtieth Unified Corps had even established a beachhead on the Western continent, and were pouring personnel and materiel of the narrow sea as quickly as they could. _

_Inevitably, they met stiff resistance. The Orks had fortified the coastline even as their larger formations withdrew to the more mountainous continental interior. They were still active in some tens of thousands, and a fierce as a _Waagh!_ can be expected. Even more worrisome to Damon and his commanders was the prevalence of Chaos worship within the surviving populations. It became evident that unless the conflict was wrapped up quickly, the Orks might be stopped only to see the word fall to the Ruinous Powers in short order._

_To compound matters, the bulk of the spaceborne fleet was called away almost overnight to evacuate Duinkerke, a civilized world within the sector where the _Waagh! _had progressed even more disastrously. Damon was left short on supplies, losing most of his spacelift abilities as well. He became certain that the War on Mercatum Hortu needed to be won quickly._

_It had been only days after the fleet had departed when General Monte, Damon's senior field commander, outlined a plan to blast past the Ork lines and destroy their warboss and his command staff, which would almost certainly cause the horde to fatally fragment. With Damon's approval, the combined forces of the Imperial Guard and the Planetary Defense Force would begin the single largest military operation in the history of Mercatum Hortu. The plan, like so many plans in so many wars before it, was meant to end the war before the local winter, and bring the planet back into its own._

888

**6.349.935.M41**

**Outside of Ernem**

Harsh, guttural yells filled the night, joining the cacophony of strained engines and battered treads moving down the Legdres road. Grant Felgen sat silently by the window in the burnt-out house, counting the Ork vehicles as they passed. The cool night air passed freely through the broken glass planes; the house had been shattered years before. Now it was only a burnt-out wreck, hardly deserving the attentions of even the most wanton greenskin.

A wisp of air on his neck caused him to turn slightly. His father, Aldon, held out a cup of recaf. Grant accepted it, savoring the warmth on his hands. It had come with a price—even the smallest drop of promethium was precious. Turning back to the window, the youth raised the glass to his lips and sipped. His face twisted.

Aldon chuckled softly at his expression. "Sorry, son," he whispered. "I must've used those wretched grounds twenty times by now." His expression turned more somber. "They're moving past, in the thousands."

"I've seen marks from at least two, maybe three tribes," Grant replied. "I think at least a thousand came by today."

"I'll have Marlus send that through," the elder Felgen said. "It sounds like Damon knows his business."

Grant turned his head halfway towards his father. "Soon?"

"Soon." Aldon placed his hand reassuringly on his son's shoulder. He had made him so proud, and yet he would have given it all to—"Very soon."

888

**6.352.935.M41**

**Thirtieth Unified Corps Headquarters**

**Davon, Eastern Continent**

"I've just returned from the Governor's residence, and both Governor Zerrick and Lord General Damon are satisfied with the operational plan." Resplendent in his red Vostroyan dress, General Sainte Monte paced stiffly back and forth across the stage in the Thirtieth Unified Corps headquarters briefing room. Behind him, a large printed map of Mercatum Hortu's western continent had been arranged, the current tactical situation marked crudely on the surface.

Colonel Hephaestus Stroop smiled grimly at that. Monte was well known for clashing with tech-priests—a rather strange trait for a Vostroyan. Obviously, it had come back to bite him this morning, as the holographic tactical display had been utterly worthless when they had tried to use it before. Well, that was that. Stroop had never cared much for the Omnissiah-botherers either, but at least he had had the common sense to keep those sentiments to himself.

Of course, the damned machine had to break down right when they actually needed it. Stroop only had to look around the amphitheater to realize that this was, as they said, It. To his left was Colonel Vandenberg, commanding the Valhallan 322nd Infantry Regiment; Colonel Pter, with the 151st Valhallan Infantry Regiment; and Colonel-in-Chief Alekseyev, commanding the 13th Vostroyan Guards Armored—Stroop's parent unit. To his right were several PDF commanders, although he only knew one personally: Brigadier Sabastian Kosko, commander of the crack Hortu Brigade.

Altogether, the men in this room represented over ten thousand Imperial soldiers, Guard and PDF. Any operation that would see them working in concert would be necessarily enormous.

"As you know, the greenskins are, as far as they can be considered to do so, on the run." Monte used his swagger crop to indicate the map. "Our intelligence has determined that they are fortifying the coastal region of Mazaft in preparation for a slugging match inland. However, the main body of their forces is still retreating to the interior—presumably to marshal for a counterattack. Obviously, allowing the greenskins to do so would be unfortunate."

A low series of chuckles passed through the room at Monte's understatement. Everyone here knew that allowing the Orks to regain their footing could prolong the war for years. The damned creatures were just too resilient. Still, Stroop wished Monte would get to the point.

"Accordingly," the Vostroyan general continued, "the General Staff and I have devised a plan to retake the inland route and strike at the greenskin commanders directly. We will break their morale and entice them to turn against each other in one fell swoop. When they have been reduced by internecine strife to a pitiful remnant, Emperor willing, we'll be able to sweep them off the continent and the planet entirely."

Hephaestus suppressed a low whistle. Pulling something like that off would be a real coup, but generally that sort of operation would border on the impossible. They had been bogged down on the Mazaft coastline for several local months—now Monte was speaking about 'fell swoops' like a commissar cadet right out of the Schola.

Pter must have thought the same thing, because he cleared his throat. "General, forgive me if that sounds a bit farfetched. How exactly do you plan to do it?"

Monte nodded. "A very reasonable question. We ruled out a wide front from the start—you all know that the Mazaft region is too marshy to make an effective advance. The armor would bog down almost immediately, and the numerous rivers will hold up an infantry advance just as easily." The general began to trace a route along the map with his crop. "No, this is a precision assault. There is exactly one route that will take Thirtieth Corps to the greenskins. We will be using what's left of M-12 motor route, crossing the bridges at Mazaft End, Noviomagus, and Ernem."

"The keys to this operation are the bridges. They need to be taken—intact—from the greenskins, and held until Thirtieth Corps can advance through. In order to do that we are going to make a massive shuttle drop: the 322nd Valhallan will take the bridges at Mazaft End and Noviomagus, while the 151st Valhallan will secure the bridges at Ernem with the assistance of the Hortu Brigade. Concurrently, the Guards Armored will punch through the coastal resistance and proceed with all due speed to each of these towns in turn. They'll be followed closely by the rest of Thirtieth Corps. If we can seize them, we can strike from Ernem unopposed. Any questions on that element?"

The general looked back out at an utterly silent room, at the grim expressions of his commanders. His jaw set. "The bridges can and will be taken—with lightning speed and efficiency. We'll bamboozle the greenskins utterly—the bastards won't know their arse from their elbow once we've finished with them. With any luck, we'll have this whole deal wrapped up by winter. Yes, Colonel Stroop?"

Hephaestus lowered his hand. "When is this kicking off then, sir?"

"Six days."

"_Six days?_" An astonished Kosko shot to his feet. "That is madness! You cannot prepare for an operation like this in so little time."

"Sit down, Brigadier Kosko." Monte's expression hardened. "The Imperial Guard is more than capable of planning and executing such an operation in that timeframe. If your own men are not up to the task—"

Kosko's expression darkened angrily. "My men are more than ready to face whatever is required of them."

"In that case, then, you should prepare for this operation in earnest, because it is this strike which will free _your_ world. Every day we delay will see more of _your_ people die. We cannot and must not delay."

Kosko looked far from happy but he returned to his seat. "I defer to the Imperial Guard," he said softly.

Monte smiled. "Good. Now the specific details are, of course, much more in depth, but I believe we can cover the basics in the next hour or so. I refer you now to our current deployments on the continent…

888

**6.354.935.M41 **

**Thirtieth Unified Corps Headquarters**

Colonel Markus Vandenberg stalked out of the headquarters building, his ever-present scowl darker than usual. He had wrapped his Valhallan greatcoat tightly around his body, although the air was only slightly cool. Taking the steps outside two at a time, he paced quickly onto the main walk towards his aircar.

A younger PDF officer wearing captain's insignia spotted him and jogged up alongside. "Afternoon, sir. Why did he call an emergency meeting?"

"Monte just wanted to keep us abreast of the minor changes," the Valhallan officer bit out sarcastically, not slackening his pace.

"How big are these little changes?" the PDF officer asked.

"Frakkin' huge," Vandenberg swore. "For example, we don't have near enough shuttles to drop everyone at once. Too many men; too much equipment. It's going to take three days to get Pter and your man, Kosko, into Ernem."

"And us?" The captain asked.

The corner of Vandenberg's mouth turned up in the closest he ever came to a smile. "Oh, we're fine, Davey. Aside from a daylight drop, that is. Why not? It's sure as the Warp the greenskins will just roll over and die when we drop in." The scowl returned. "Daylight. I've never heard of doing a combat drop like this in full daylight."

"Is that it, then?" David was almost afraid to ask.

Vandenberg grunted. "Not quite. But you're my PDF advisor."

"What do you mean?" the captain asked.

"Only this," Vandenberg said. "You never mentioned that Mazaft End's a rat's nest of tunnels and other fun locations the greenies can hide in. That's why you were able to kill a thousand of _them_ when they tried to take it in the first place."

888

**6.358.935.M41. **

**5km East of Ernem**

They were shadows, flitting from tree to tree in the darkness. His face black with charcoal soot, Grant Felgen loped through the forest with the skill of an expert woodsman. Fanned out behind him were the other members of Ernem Commando, invisible except to those who knew they were there. Long years of Ork occupation had granted the Hortuans an almost preternatural level of skill in concealment and survival.

Raising his hand, Grant motioned them forward to the top of the rise. Dropping prone, the men edged forward until they could look down on the plain below. Grant strained his eyes, but he could barely make out anything in the twilight.

Was that a glint of light, down in that copse? Grant turned his head and whispered hoarsely, "Bring up the auspex!"

Aldon crawled forward, clutching their much-abused detector. The magos was keeping it barely functional, but it had seen better days—as had they all. Aldon handed off the auspex to Grant, who raised the display to his eyes.

There! A silhouette of some sort of a vehicle—it looked like the orks had repurposed a PDF Chimera. Behind it was…a _Leman Russ?_ Grant could hardly believe it, but he saw more than one of the heavy tanks, covered in Ork pictograms and adorned with red stripes. The greenskins had heavy armor!

All throughout the valley bellow, Grant could see the fires of the Ork camps. There were easily a thousand of them in the rift, scarcely five kilometers from Ernem. And they apparently had armor and heavy weapons. This was a most unwelcome development.

"Dad!" he hissed. "Come back up here! We have to call this one in."

888

**6.360.935.M41. **

**Thirtieth Unified HQ**

"I will, of course, be joining you gentlemen in the first drop." General Monte smiled easily as he addressed the unified corps officers. "Thirtieth will assume a field headquarters at Noviomagus once the 332nd has secured the town. From there we can more readily direct the operations in the field. Now, I've asked our Navy support to brief us on the drop zones. "If you will, please, Lieutenant?"

A young man in an Imperial Navy flyer's jacket stepped forward. "Thank you, sir." Stepping forward, he adjusted the controls on the now-working projector to display an overhead view. "This is Ernem from the air. Now, we have made several passes with the Lightning fighters and conferred with the PDF who have knowledge of the town." He indicated the clearing southwest of the bridge. "Unfortunately this drop location, though it's less than a kilometer from the objective, is simply too boggy. If we land a shuttle there, it's not taking off again. Furthermore, landing in the town itself is too risky—the greenskins will have enough weaponry to seriously damage the shuttles, not less your own troops."

Colonel Pter chuckled. "I'm assuming that you are going to let us land _somewhere_, though."

"Indeed." The lieutenant smiled again, more uneasily. "There is a suitable landing spot to the north, still across the river. It should be defensible, and the ground is suitable for a landing"

"Where is it?" The colonel leaned forward. "I don't see it on your display."

The lieutenant coughed. "It's actually not on this view. Just a moment." Working the controls, he panned the view to the north. "There it is."

Pter was almost beside himself. "Why, that must be ten kilometers from the bridge!" he exclaimed.

"Our surveys make it just under eight, actually," the pilot tried to reassure him. "Perfectly manageable for a unit of your skill."

Hephaestus Stroop laughed. "At least you don't have to go the whole sixty-five, Milieus."

"Give me some tanks and I could make it the whole frakkin' way," Pter shot back.

The Navy lieutenant coughed again to get their attention. "Unfortunately, this is the situation. I can't begin to impress upon you how short we are on transport aircraft and spacecraft. We can't afford to lose any of our shuttles, or the whole operation could be undone. As a result, this is the best compromise that General Monte and Captain Harrizen could come to."

Monte stepped back up. "Well, Milieus, I can't offer you tanks, but I can give you some assistance. I spoke with the Lord General and he has agreed to reassign the 17th Independent Elysian Airborne Battalion under Commandant Hemje to Thirtieth Corps for the push. I am assigning them to the 151st—the shuttles may not be able to land at the closer drop zone, but the Elysians will make a grav-chute drop in—their specialty, really. Hemje has about four hundred men, and will seize the bridge at Ernem and hold it until your Valhallans can cover the distance on foot. He's also the most knowledgeable person in the expeditionary force about airborne operations, so he'll be able to give your more ideas on getting your men in to place."

Mollified, the Valhallan colonel rocked back. "Understood, sir. That is good news."

"I have a concern." Brigadier Koskos stood. "What of the Orks? We have spoken of two things—the greenskin withdrawal in the context of the strategic imperative, and the details of the landings. What I want more information on is the strength of the opposition in the tactical sense. If Ernem and Noviomagus are so vital to the Ork withdrawal, won't we likely see resistance in force? "

"I believe you will find the tactical situation to your liking, Sabastian," Monte replied. "There is no doubt that their coastal deployments are quite reinforced, and that is why the Guards Armored will need to punch through as quickly as possible. Other than that, though, the intelligence indicates the greenskins are withdrawing the best combat units to the continental interior to organize their coming counterattack. As a result, there should be relatively few of them left able to respond. Furthermore, a concerted defense in depth beyond the perimeter is generally beyond the scope of greenskin tactics. If we can take Mazaft End, Noviomagus, and Ernem within the timeframe of the operation, then the Orks will not have time to do anything but watch us snatch the strategic initiative clean away."

With that, the briefing concluded and the officers stood up and began filing out. Monte turned and walked out the exit into the pleasant Hortuan sun. As he stepped down the stairs to the ground, an officer in Vostroyan dress hurried over to him. "Ah, Major Fillips, I was hoping I would hear from you soon."

The nervous looking officer saluted sharply. "Begging your pardon, sir, but I would like to have the Navy do a low-level reconnaissance flyby of Ernem this afternoon. There may be trouble."

"Trouble?"

"Yes, sir." Fillips nodded. "We've received a report from local resistance forces at Ernem. It seems that the greenskins have some form of armor there."

"Armor? Did they give any specifics?"

"The resistance reported that there what appeared to be captured Leman Russes and Chimeras in sufficient numbers as to be decidedly problematic."

The General began walking towards his own staff car. "I see. Have our own intelligence assets confirmed this?"

Fillips shook his head as he fell into step next to Monte. "No, sir, that's why I wanted the flyby—for confirmation."

"So we don't have official confirmation. Well, that's splendid." Monte voice cut with sarcasm. "It's nothing more than a rumor, then. These civilians can't tell a Leman Russ from a rock pile, most likely. Or they've been influenced by one of those damned cults. Think, Fillips, on whether you find it likely the greenskins have armor in force. Have you ever seen it before?"

"I understand that, sir—" the major began.

"And you want to risk our men on a reconnaissance mission which is probably worthless? With three days until we start, and an Ork counterattack looming unless we proceed as planned?"

"Yes, sir, I think that surety is better, especially for an operation of this magnitude." The Vostroyan field officer swallowed nervously. "I don't think we can afford to risk it."

Monte stopped and considered for a moment before sighing. "You're right of course," he said. "Very well—order the flyby." He smiled at the major. "Have a little faith, though. The Emperor protects."

888

**6.361.935.M41. **

**Imperial Expeditionary Force HQ**

**Hortu Prime, Eastern Continent**

Commandant Jorgen Hemje buttoned the top of his Elysian dress uniform and reached for his laspistol.  
It filled a ceremonial role on the dress uniform, but it was also a gravchuter's weapon—rugged, simple, and reliable. The weapon fit snugly into his black leather holster. "How do I look, Marius?"

His batman handed him a pair of neatly polished gravchuter's boots with a smile. "Splendid, sir. I'm sure you'll make quite the cutting entrance."

Jorgen fitted the boots on, lacing them firmly over his bloused trousers. "I certainly hope so. I must say I never expected to be jumping during a liaison tour. I almost miss it."

Marius smiled quickly. "I'd imagine we all do, sir. It's in our blood."

"Make sure you pack my mess jacket, Marius. I expect I'll be needing it soon enough."

A knock on the door to his quarters had the officer on his feet. "Come!" he called.

Colonel Pter opened the door and strode in. The officers were quite the contrast—Hemje in his recruiting poster garb while Pter was still in mud-stained fatigues from the day's exercises. "I was hoping to have a quick word with you, Jorgen."

"Certainly, Colonel." Hemje turned to his aide. "That will be all, Marius."

Pter took a seat as the Elysian batman shut the door behind him. "I was hoping, Jorgen, that you might be able to share your thoughts on our part of the operation. I know you were assigned almost at the last minute, and I want to make sure your men are feeling up to their role. Also, quite frankly this is more your role than mine. Any advice you have would be most welcome."

Hemje sat down opposite the colonel. "Well, sir, in regards to the operation…Sir, I've made thirty-seven combat drops. I have never dropped in daylight where such a jump was not made in desperation. The last time I did so was when we had to pull the Governor of Atrava out of his palace before the Tyranids overran the capital. We took fifteen percent casualties, but that was lucky. Quite frankly, I'm not sure what to think. As for the operation itself, I'm not sure it will be the joyride Monte expects, but I suppose it will kick off well enough if what I've been briefed on is correct."

The Elysian officer reached over for a mug of recaf on his dresser. "They key to our part of the operation will be simply that you make effective time to the objective. My men will be able to take the bridge, I have no doubt of that, but what happens next may very well depend on how quickly you can make it to reinforce us. We are gravchuters, not mechanized infantry."

"I understand," Pter nodded. "We're dropping in with two sentinels and a salamander—that's the heaviest load I could get without compromising the shuttle transport. When we land I'll dispatch them straight to you, loaded with extra supplies and ammunition. That should give you the support you need to hold until my men can arrive on foot."

Hemje smiled. "Thank you, Colonel. Though I hope they won't be necessary."

888

**6.361.935.M41**

**Thirtieth Unified HQ**

"I'm still worried about the range, Magos," Enginseer Adolphus Geste said. "I'm just not sure whether the vox-casters will have enough range for the Elysians to reach the 151st at the landing zone."

"Enginseer, these units have worked successfully through many campaigns. Their Machine Spirits are a true tribute to the Omnissiah. It would be disrespectful to think otherwise." The tall Magos didn't betray any expression of irritation on his face—such displays of emotion were in contradiction to his doctrine—but the tone of his mechanical voice managed to convey it perfectly.

"I don't doubt their dedication, Magos," Geste replied respectfully. "There has been some history of disrupted communications, though, particularly on the western continent. Transmechanic Mellifin believes there is something in the ground there that may act to corrupt the communication spirit."

"Nonsense," Magos Superbia replied, shooting the Enginseer a scathing look. "Such a thing would be a blasphemy to the Omnissiah. Regardless, the vox-casters are not vital to the operation. The Elysians and the Valhallans will have met in Ernem within the first few hours. Then they can just speak their inefficient language with each other directly. Besides, if anything is amiss, you or I should be able to, Omnissiah willing, correct any aberrations."

"You or I, Magos?"

"Certainly, Geste. We will be landing with the first wave, at Noviomagus. The entirety of Monte's staff will be landing with us."

Geste made the sign of the cogwheel. "As the Omnissiah directs."

"So you see, Enginseer? We shall have the situation completely under control, by our personal presence. This operation will not be canceled because of a lack of faith on our part."

888

**6.363.935.M41**

**Thirtieth Unified HQ**

"It's a pity you couldn't have one of the Tech-Priests rig that up, Fillips," General Sainte Monte remarked as he stared at a blank screen in the briefing room.

Behind him came sounds of exertion and frustration as Major Fillips struggled to work the projector. "I would have, sir, but this intelligence is just too pressing."

"Really," Monte replied dryly. He relaxed back in his chair and sipped at some recaf. "What makes it so important?"

Fillips finished muttering a simplified litany of activation and hit the power stud on the projector. The screen began to lighten in front of the General, and Fillips breathed a sigh of relief. "We have confirmation of enemy armor at Ernem.

Monte's grip tightened on the grip of the mug. "Show me."

"Yessir." The intelligence office placed a card into the machine, then winced as it was displayed sideways. "Damn. Just a moment, sir." He flipped the card around and reinserted it. This time the image was properly oriented.

"Hmm." Monte took another sip. "Wonderful view of the Mazaft countryside, Fillips. I don't see any Leman Russes."

"Sorry, sir, let me enlarge it." He touched a control on the machine, and the image zoomed forward. Now visible were multiple squat silhouettes, all adorned with alien glyphs.

Monte's face hardened and he stood, stepping closer to the screen to examine it more closely. "Where was this taken?"

"East of Ernem, sir, yesterday. It corresponds with the report from the resistance forces."

Monte nodded slowly to himself. "Well, I don't think we'll have much to worry about. These vehicles are clearly inoperable. Good work, though, Fillips."

"Sir?" Fillips asked incredulously, not able to contain himself. "Sir, why would they hide them if they weren't working?"

"Standard procedure, Fillips. The greenies are secreting them away like all things they really don't understand. I'm sure they'd like to fix them, but the idea that the orks could get these vehicle moving again is ludicrous."

"But-"

"But nothing." Monte turned to face the major. "The operation goes as planned, Major." His expression softened slightly. "Fillips, you really should be careful, though. If anyone overheard some of your comments, they might take you for a defeatist."

"By no means, sir!" Fillips was aghast. "I want to win this war and fight for the Emperor as much as every man in the Guard!"

Monte smiled. "I know, Fillips, I know you do. I just think you're a bit tired...and, well, stressed. Wouldn't you agree, Commissar Braith?"

Fillips felt a spike of dread sink into his stomach as the Corps Commissar stepped out of the shadows in the back of the darkened room. "Quite right, General Monte." The scarlet-sashed political officer stepped forward and rested a hand on the major's shoulder. "The major needs to rest and meditate on the Emperor's grace."

Fillips' expression seemed to flicker between fear and desperation. "Sir...I want to go in with you."

Monte smiled sadly. "It's out of my hands now, Fillips."

With that, the Commissar gently began leading the pale officer away.

888

**6.366.935.M41**

**13****th**** Guards Armored Field Headquarters**

"Attention!"

The sharp crack of the Sergeant-Major's voice broke through the din of the appropriated civilian theater, followed by the slap of rubber on rockcrete as three hundred Imperial officers and other ranks snapped to their feet.

Colonel-in-Chief Ivan Alekseyev strode confidently up to the center stage. "Sit down, everyone."

"As you all know, we have been gearing up for a major strike at the greenies for the past several days. Well, now I'm going to give you the specifics. It's going to be a hell of a fight, I can tell you that, but if we can get it to work we'll be out of here in a few weeks."

"At 1500 hours local tomorrow, we will launch a massive armored spearhead up the M-12 motorway. It will proceed through the greenskin lines with the support of a rolling barrage by the 39th Perlian Field Artillery and the guns of the 19th Firstborn Artillery. Combined, we will have enough Earthshakers and Griffons to blanket the approach with fire."

One of the tankers raised a hand. "'Scuse me, sir, but who will be leading the advance?"

"Ah, yes," Alekseyev took the interruption in stride. "Well, that will be none other than the illustrious Firstborn Grenadiers with Hephaestus Stroop." He pointed at Stroop in the crowd.

"Lovely," Stroop's executive officer, Barney Mils, muttered. "This is becoming quite the pattern."

"What was that, Hef?" Ivan called.

"Oh, nothing, sir," Stroop raised his voice so Alekseyev could hear. "Just delighted to be out front again." A ripple of nervous laughter ran through the theater.

"Consider it a good turn," Alekseyev replied with a straight face. "By the time you make it to Ernem you'll be so dirty the greenies will just think your men are gretchins."

This time the laughter was much more natural. Even Stroop couldn't keep a smile off his face. "I'll keep that in mind," he said.

"Once we've exploited that vulnerability, the rest of the Guards Armored and our PDF colleagues will pour through the breach. From there it's a straight shot to Mazaft End, then Noviomagus, and finally Ernem. Sixty-five kilometers to the far side of Ernem Bridge. We'll be handed off between the 332nd and 151st Valhallans as we advance west."

Alekseyev clasped his hands behind his back. "And that, Gentlemen, is the plan. However, I must emphasize to you the importance of the schedule. According to the plan, we need to reach Mazaft End in five to seven hours, and Ernem, Emperor willing, in two to three days. The Valhallans and Elysians will be short on supplies and behind enemy lines, so we need to act quickly."

"I like to think of it like those Desert Raider holos about the Tallarns you see all the time. The infantry out there are the helpless serf s trying to survive against threats they can't deal with. The greenies, well, they're the bad guys." He chuckled and spread his arms to indicate the assembly. "We're the cavalry. Now get back to your units and get ready to work for a living!"

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AUTHOR NOTES:

I hope you enjoy this entry. Although I have only been recently introduced to the WH40k world, I felt compelled to write something of this sort, so I may not have the most in-depth grasp of the source material. Please forgive any minor inaccuracies I may have made (and let me know what they are!) Unfortunately my current situation had left me with little time to spare to writing pursuits, so I cannot guarantee an update soon. The more astute readers will quickly notice some interesting details within this text that will add a context to this tale. I hope to use it, perhaps, as commentary for our own world here on Earth. Fair winds and following sea,

taskforce


End file.
